How Not to Die Alone

by Richard Roper

“Would it be okay for me to ask follow-...

Logic is not your friend here.”

As the train snaked into Newcastle, the Tyne Bridge sparkling in the sun,

“Oi,” Peggy said, kicking him gently in the shin, “whose side are you on?”

Peggy’s sister, Imogen, was, by her own admission, “a cuddler,” and Andrew had no option but to submit to her bosomy bear hug.

Imogen had obviously been busy that morning as the kitchen was teeming with cakes, biscuits and puddings, many of which Andrew lacked the critical vocabulary to describe.

“Well, it’s very sweet what you’re doing,” Imogen said, stifling a yawn. “I mean, you’re both mental, obviously

Andrew hoped that was the end of it, but then Imogen spoke up again.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to keep going. “She

how the journey had been, what he’d had for dinner—the sort of thing he imagined most people would say in real life.

and—even if half of it was suspicious about him—the

He wasn’t sure what made him

do it, but he found himself pau...

you really think he isn’t interested in you?” “I’m not answering that.”

“Okay, well, are you interested in him then?”

I need to be in a good frame of mind to deal with it

all.” Another pause.

“You pass us the cookies, they’re equidistant.”

the light from the TV showing the dampness in her eyes.

Andrew kept replaying his garbled explanation over and over in his mind. Neither Peggy nor Imogen had seemed to know what he was blathering on about, which just meant he carried on and on, digging an increasingly large hole.

Thankfully, they’d continued to just look at him blankly, like two bored customs officials ignoring a foreign traveler’s desperate attempts to explain their plight, and the climax of the romcom provided enough of a distraction for the conversation to move on.

Andrew had assumed that they would be going to Barter Books the next morning, but Peggy and Imogen had other plans. What followed over the next couple of days were boat trips to the Farne Islands, where Andrew was unceremoniously shat on by a puffin (much to Suze’s delight), and blustery coastal walks punctuated by tea and cake pit stops (much to Imogen’s delight), followed by delicious dinners bac...

“Interested in him.” Could that have meant anything other than romantic interest? Maybe it was from a purely anthropological point of view—that Peggy was planning to make scientific field notes: A squat specimen, frequently observed making a twat of himself. Either way, Peggy had refused to answer the question, and Andrew had watched enough episodes of Newsnight to know this meant she was avoiding telling the truth. He only wished Imogen had gone full hostile BBC interviewer on her.

The kids had stayed behind with Imogen, who had promised to make them a cake so chocolatey it would send Bruce Bogtrotter into a diabetic coma.

The more miles they chewed up, the more fraught Andrew felt, because the closer they got to the bookshop, the closer they were to their adventure’s ending. Most

likely they’d just be returning home, deflated with defeat, and Alan would be buried with just them and a disinterested vicar for company.

He remembered the evening sky being scorched pink, his eyes following the telegraph wires silhouetted against it as if they were a blank musical score, when he noticed the letters painted white and bold on a fence in the distance: “Why Do I Do This Every Day?”

He shifted in his seat, half exhilarated, half terrified at the possibility.

Not just about his growing feelings for her,

The realization came to him like a radio signal finding its way through static: a lie can only exist in opposition to the truth, and the truth was the only thing that could free him of his pain.

“Why are you wriggling around so much?” Peggy said. “You’re like my old dog dragging its arse along the floor.” “Sorry,” Andrew said. “It’s just . . .” “What?” “. . . Nothing.”

annoying variations (Meredith had a mug in the office with the slogan “Keep Calm and Do Yoga” written on it, possibly the most prosaic sentence ever committed to ceramic), here it felt like the perfect emblem.

The woman took it from him and there was a flash of recognition in her eyes.

it felt so decadent!” She lifted her mug to her lips with both hands and her glasses momentarily steamed up.

It took Alan about ten visits to pluck up the courage to talk to me, you know.

but then I realized he was only standing there because it was the best way to keep sneaking glances at me. Once

“And you became an item straightaway?” Peggy said.

“The timing was rubbish.

It just seemed like I should pause for the dust to settle a bit.

She and Beryl exchanged slightly frosty smiles.

He had these great big strong legs like tree trunks.”

Beryl realized what the unspoken question was.

Beryl composed herself, polishing her glasses again.

we came home on our wedding night and gave each other a chaste little peck on the cheek that we didn’t properly love each other.

Bish, bash, bosh. I’d be out.”

She eyed Andrew mischievously. “You might want to cover your ears for this part, but we practically spent the first few years in bed. That’s

Andrew thought of his mother in the dark of her bedroom. Inert. Hidden away. Unable to face the world.

At this, a sob escaped her, and she clasped both hands to her chest. “Maybe I should have tried harder after all.”

blinking into the sunlight,

thoughts consumed by the story they’d just been told.